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 |    We live much of life amid unique choices. Joy is anchored in The One beyond our life. |
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“There are times when solitude is better than society, and silence is wiser than speech. We should be better Christians if we were more alone, waiting upon God, and gathering through meditation on His Word spiritual strength for labour in his service. We ought to muse upon the things of God, because we thus get the real nutriment out of them. . . . Why is it that some Christians, although they hear many sermons, make but slow advances in the divine life? Because they neglect their closets, and do not thoughtfully meditate on God's Word. They love the wheat, but they do not grind it; they would have the corn, but they will not go forth into the fields to gather it; the fruit hangs upon the tree, but they will not pluck it; the water flows at their feet, but they will not stoop to drink it. From such folly deliver us, O Lord. . . .” ― Charles Spurgeon “Our anxiety does not empty tomorrow of its sorrows, but only empties today of its strengths.” ― C. H. Spurgeon “Hope itself is like a star- not to be seen in the sunshine of prosperity, and only to be discovered in the night of adversity.” ― Charles Haddon Spurgeon “If sinners be damned, at least let them leap to Hell over our dead bodies. And if they perish, let them perish with our arms wrapped about their knees, imploring them to stay. If Hell must be filled, let it be filled in the teeth of our exertions, and let not one go unwarned and unprayed for.” ― Charles Spurgeon “A Bible that’s falling apart usually belongs to someone who isn’t.” ― Charles Spurgeon “Visit many good books, but live in the Bible.” ― Charles Spurgeon “When your will is God's will, you will have your will.” ― Charles Spurgeon https://www.goodreads.com/author/quotes/2876959.Charles_Haddon_Spurgeon (Philippians 2:13, KJV)    |
The Nights of Lights are never more, where Dr. Guido lived. Last year they shined as oft before as last night guests received. With gardens dark the memory lives remembering what He preached. "The Light of all the world, He gives Salvation, that can't be reached." How sad, that no more Christmas nights are lit by brightness there, but still the memory of the lights show the heart of Christian care! by Jay O’Toole on December 20th, 2024   |
The sun shines through the wooded stand anticipating night. Cacophony of bird and man adds to this dusky sight. Cars run through the yellow-dotted trees to where they need to go. Warmer temps perspiration frees the coming dark to know. The shorter days will bottom soon. The light will then increase. The spring will come, blest life it's boon, it's joy to soon release. by Jay O’Toole on December 19th, 2024 |
To live without her has been hard these eight months or so. I lose the words, not a wise old bard. We had to let her go. Survive we do, but not with joy at the thoughts of her great loss. Such energy to play with her toy, or chase the ball I'd toss. She was my only friend some nights when work was finally through. This Christmas midnight really bites. Thick silence floats so new. I look upon the shelf to see a box marked with her name, and cry, that she's no more with me, and wonder if there's blame. The doctor made her go so soft, and took away the pain. Now, something beautiful is lost, and my heart is filled with rain. "'Tis better to have loved and lost," quoth Tennyson of old, "than never to have loved at all." This statement's oh so bold. I'm sure that's true, but still my days are filled with silent hours, no barks of love, all glad displays of one, who knew she's ours. I cannot find my Christmas joy, the one I often knew when Bruhni was alive with us, before her life was through. I know this grief is good heart work, but work it is so hard. This poetry is my best balm, laid thick, like cooking lard. Merry Christmas, Dear Sweet Bruhn! You're in my heart, today. I pray, that when I'm with The Son restored with you's okay. by Jay O’Toole on December 18th, 2024 |
These moments in my quiet place give time to think, reflect. The need for hope and daily grace cannot we oft detect. My quiet place feels oft alone for few can find this nest. Repair to there when strength is gone. Restore the heart as blest. My quiet place is where I write, and sit to think about the days of life, that in the light are God's to work them out. The Christmas times in my quiet place are tastes of what's to come. Salvation in Christ's wondrous Grace is where Joy knows its sum. by Jay O’Toole on December 17th, 2024 |
This Christmas time has come and gone, it seems to this child's heart. Though nine more days 'til we're beyond, I feel the new year's start. The rushing to and fro on foot. I can't find shopping time. The decorating's slightly moot, the wonkiness of rhyme. This Christmastime began so short. Thanksgiving was so late. I need to Russian Christmas court, and January date. Retiring soon may give quite assist my time to celebrate. I'd write great tomes with poems kissed, and decorating slake. 'Tis time to go, more work to do, and help the shoppers find their needs for Christmas Day to know with a daily smile, that's kind. by Jay O’Toole on December 16th, 2024 |
There is a wedding on today for a dear, blest niece. I’ll get a nephew. What can I say? I’ll wish a life of peace. There is a wedding very soon. We must be decked to go. A life of joy, the greatest boon, such hopes for them to know. There is a wedding, happy youth, blest of God for life. May John lead both in the days of Truth. Annelise is his dear wife. There is a wedding in the cold, but warm the hearts of all. These days of grace in service, bold, to answer The Lord’s Own Call. There is a wedding, then as one to walk as couple new, until as present with The Son this earthly sojourn’s done. There is a wedding in the skies when Bride and Son are wed. The ones He calls no one denies the dowry, He, Who bled. There is a wedding painted here of lasting bliss Above. The Savior rose to make it clear, this is the lasting love. by Jay O’Toole on December 14, 2024 |
| Freshly from the metal stove smoked by coals and chips. Rosemary, aroma nose, in its own juices. Savor ev'ry bite. Worth the wait. Bliss! by Jay O’Toole on December 12th, 2024 |
Each childlike heart in every chest finds life at Christmastide, but earlier it's truly blest as Thankful Day abides. The days of lights as music wafts each childlike heart in bliss finds joyful hope in a place aloft at no other time like this. Sweet Christmas trees of every sort with ornaments and such are full of childlike heart's import with wondrous season's touch. These snowmen made of cold or tin in a yard's great Christmas scene makes glad a childike heart to win with love not ever lean. Each childlike heart in every chest finds youthfulness for aye, that keeps its way so truly blest, beyond glad Christmas Day. by Jay O’Toole on December 11th, 2024 |
Christmas movies are the best for the young at heart. Charlie Brown's Christmas is blest. That's where we often start. The Muppets Christmas Carol has what few can duplicate, the warmth of puppets' funny jazz, and Michael Caine, who's great. Stop-motion, based on Rudolph's life, now seen for many years. Transitioned hope from starting strife as courage faces fears. Though Arthur Christmas is quite new, it leaves me teary-eyed for Mr. Tumnus isn't through, until the gift bike ride. When Buddy Claus comes to New York to find his real, true Dad, this Elf can quickly his Father torque. Yet, finally Dad is glad. by Jay O’Toole on December 10th, 2024 |
The warmth and glow of lights arrayed is really quite a gift. The Christmas season is displayed. My heart receives a lift. The warmth and glow among the trees make rushing life to slow. Some nighttime steps are lit by these to better moments know. The warmth and glow of lights shine bright in evening's darkness, long. Arranged creation's quite a sight with carolers in song. The warmth and glow among the rooms, a joy to see tonight as Christmas wonder fully blooms in a life made newly right. by Jay O’Toole on December 9th, 2024 |
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